Synthetic Fiber
by Bri-Lei
Summary: My very first HP attempt, follows a MWPP generation girl. Any sort of review would be appreciated, quite angsty at the moment. The long awaited chapter six is here.
1. Synthetic Fiber

What follows is my very first Harry Potter story. Although I have previously attempted fiction of the original kind, and violently enjoy reading others' fan work, I'm a bit shaky when it comes to combining the two areas. If those who decide to read this dribble could give me responses such as "That sucked royally, dude," or "The beauty of that passage is inexpressible," I would be forever indebted. "Good," "Bad," or "Indifferent" would do as well. Flame if my writing offends greatly, but a logical explanation of my grievous errors would benefit all involved to a much greater extent. Now that my senseless rambling is coming to a halt, on with the show! 

Everyone's favorite portion of fan fiction, that evilly necessary animal, The Disclaimer:   
I own nothing but Brede Kearney, (and she disputes that quite passionately); everything else belongs the genius word sculptress, J. K. Rowling.   
  
  
  
  


_Synthetic Fiber_

  
  
As she mindlessly picked at the aging sneaker sole, a teenaged girl sighed. At that very moment, the deteriorating condition of her shoe's base reflected all too accurately her current emotional state. 

Her almost black hair, perpetually slightly frizzed, drooped into her face, obscuring her features from view, had anyone been observing her at the time. Behind her curtain of hair dwelt a pale, almost "pasty" visage, as she often disparagingly referred to it. The only pigmentation noticeable upon the otherwise colorless face was a sprinkling of freckles haphazardly spilt across her nose, cheeks, and forehead. Her large, variently-hued eyes, flecked with blue and gold, dominated her small, ovular face. The sizable sensory organs overpowered a small, round nose and thinnish lips. Her pointed ears, a point of embarrassment on the young woman's part, were rarely visible to others at any moment, and often went unnoticed by others, to her great relief. 

Below the neck, this female individual could best be described as proportioned. Although not particularly slim, she was possessed of enough curves to maintain a pleasant figure. At the moment, the "Colleen," (as she was often referred to by her plethora of Irish relatives), formed a tight little ball, with her weak knees tucked under her small pointed chin, her heavily spotted arms, so similar to her face, wrapped tightly around her halved legs, and her now unoccupied hands clenched tightly together. The striking eyes, typically dancing with mirth, were red-rimmed and moist, and the small lips trembled and shook. 

She was also conspicuously and intentionally alone. 

A good friend had poignantly remarked recently that she had never seen her cry. The girl had expressed a false sense of surprise, exclaiming an artificial astonishment at the observation. In truth, from a very young age, no one saw a tear escape her eye. A laugh or sarcastic retort were always available, even a sympathetic ear, (most of the time), but her eyes remained dry, excepting the moments of weakness, when she would flee to some unoccupied space. 

This day had been one of the closest calls; in her concealed grief, she had barely reached an empty classroom in time, before the sobs came. These were no ordinary hiccups. They were horrible, violent sobs that tore from her throat as from a wounded animal. Her face, so often possessing a warm, cheerful, sometimes mischievous glow in public, would readily shift into a strange and unnatural parody of itself. She rocked herself back and forth, seeking comfort that wasn't there, yearning for those who had abandoned her. 

Suddenly, a sharp rapping interrupted her mournful and involuntary breakdown. A muffled inquiry as to the situation of the occupants of the very room she had commandeered for her own temporary private hell was becoming increasingly audible. 

Panic raced through her veins; the sudden seizure of the panic attack had prevented her mind from registering the possibility of someone overhearing her cries. She leapt to her feet and hastily pressed her hands to her face, swiping the incriminating moisture from her cheeks. Her grief shoved to a far corner of her mind to be attacked later, Brede Kearney took several shaky breaths and blinked fiercely, desperately praying to the Trinity her eyes bore some resemblance to their normal selves, not swollen, bloodshot betrayers. She silently composed herself, adjusting her robes, patting her mane of frizz, and called out in her "Americanized Irish brogue," as she referred to it, "Where's the fire?" 

She flicked her wand at the door, and immediately, a sandy-haired youth burst into the room. Phrases somewhat resembling "Are you all right?" "What happened?" and "Why the blazes was the door locked like that?" burst forth from the boy's mouth. 

A slightly taken aback Brede racked her brain for a suitable excuse. The sight of the normally calm, logical, and generally unflappable Remus Lupin in such a tizzy unnerved the girl and virtually emptied her already scattered mind of plausible explanations. Grasping at straws, she finally dredged up an appropriate response, something to the effect of "Whatever are you talking about, good sir, I've just been minding my own and some unnamed masculine individual's business." In real world terms, with a painful and almost impossible to muster smirk, she muttered, "Wouldn't you like to know..." and left a marginally unconvinced, yet properly mortified classmate behind her. 

Once she had rounded the corner, Brede broke into a run and, finding a deserted hallway, collapsed and finished her cry.   
  
  
  
Was it utter crap? Was it immensely entertaining? Could I make it better? Should I stop before I bore you all to death? This is my first attempt, so PLEASE (pretty please with sugar on top) let me know if this should be continued. Give me ideas for future plot developments if it's even mildly entertaining. Does it have potential? One-word responses and onward are greatly appreciated. Thank you for even reading this! 


	2. The Pensive Ponderer

I am currently amazed and shocked...All I can say is I am eternally grateful to my first few reviewers. You wonderful people have encouraged me to continue, and made me feel mucho better about my writing. I still think it's whacked out, as I think all must acknowledge, but I don't feel like I'm writing utter crap. Hopefully this chapter will maintain the tradition. 

Summary: In the introductory chapter, we are introduced to Brede Kearney, a student at Hogwarts with some unnamed emotional problems. Her grief interrupted by a concerned Remus Lupin. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing excepting an unwilling Brede. It's all Rowling's. 

  


_The Pensive Ponderer_

  
A preoccupied Remus Lupin meandered a lonely stretch of Hogwarts hallway. A rather serious and subdued youth, barring his less than legal escapades with his partners in crime, the "Marauders," as they were often referred to by a certain stern and often hassled black haired professor and head of Griffindor House, Remus found carefully sorting through the jumbled logic of a problem always led to a solution. 

The aforementioned Transfiguration expert was the second person on his mind at the moment. 

The first was the subtly sarcastic Irish-American who had just...done something. He thought it possible that his wisest course of action would be to report the events that had just transpired between this first person and himself to the second person. Remus floundered in his uncertainty. He had been deep in thought, pensively pondering the ramifications of the looming success of the most taxing project ever undertaken by any Marauder: becoming Animagi. Although ecstatic beyond expression at the possibility of concluding his forced solitude every full moon, Remus was not ignorant of the risk being undertaken by his only true friends. 

His troubled revelry was cut short by a low wailing that steadily grew louder. Quite alarmed, the chivalrous Griffindor galloped towards the source of the troubling sound. He soon found himself before a classroom door, and, while yelling inquiries as to their condition to whomever was raising the sound, the young wizard tried the knob. He found it locked, and became quite concerned when the door refused to budge, even after a muttered "_Alohomora_." 

A moment after a hurried rustling was audible from within, a familiar voice called out "Where's the fire?" The door opened and the shocked youth rushed in. A jumbled mass of words poured forth from Remus's mouth, as his anxiety had increased with each passing second, and he was, by this time, more than bit worried. 

Brede stood before him, looking disheveled and depressed. She plastered a highly artificial-looking grin upon her otherwise pallid features, and attempted the nonchalant route. After a muttered, noncommittal response, she slipped past him through the door and awkwardly sauntered away, leaving an embarrassed, yet puzzled Remus in her wake. 

He now mulled over the scene repeatedly in his head. Had he simply interrupted a romantic interlude? If so, where did Prince Charming disappear to? Perhaps, in his alarmed state, he had simply overlooked her "friend." Remus shook his head. Why were his thoughts so disparaging of Brede's significant other? He quickly answered himself, _Look at the state the poor girl was in..._ He snorted internally, he never thought he'd refer to Brede as "poor girl," even in his own head. She was always so cheerful, so witty, so...in control. 

Remus frowned thoughtfully. _Maybe therein lies the problem._ She rarely even showed anger towards others. She'd just casually toss a put-down and there it would end. She held little enmity with anyone in the entire school. Even Snape had trouble remaining snide and cool towards her. 

He also realized, with a jolt, that it was impossible to name her best friend. There was no student she would be seen with on a regular basis, doing homework together, laughing with on a Hogsmeade trip, walking to classes even. She was a loner, a drifter. Well-liked, but always alone. 

He would keep silent for know. Remus vowed to himself, however, while on that pensieve-worthy stroll, that he would uncover this enigma's solution. 

  
  
Hopefully, I've answered the question of Remus's thoughts. I am pleading and begging with anyone who made it this far, PLEASE review. One word is acceptable. More is stupendous. Tell me what I screwed up, tell me what I did right. I love you all anyway, but if you respond, I'll feel special. Thank you for reading, and return next time, for the adventures of Remus Lupin, the seventies' answer to Sherlock Holmes. 

Special Thanks go out to:   
ArthurX, my first reviewer for any writing on ff.n, Twilight and Silence, my first reviewer for this story, AnimeGirl, All's Well that Ends Well, Asterix, and Black Goddess, who suggested the shift to Remus's perspective: you people are all fantastic, and I promise, more is coming soon. 


	3. A Hope and a Prayer

As I write this, I have a singular review from the lovely Lady Ev for the second chapter. I'm feeling rather lonely. I decided, however, to plough on with a third chapter, as I've grown rather fond of my tormented protagonist of the moment. I humbly request, if you read this, PLEASE review. Just saying "That was good," "That really sucked," or "That could use some work, but not bad," would make me feel ever so much better. I appreciate those who simply read, but those who respond give me the most massive ego boost, which I could desperately use at the moment. Whew, that was a long note. Anyway... 

I claim the rights to nothing but Brede and Rosemary. 

  


_A Hope and a Prayer_

  
A low moan issued from a huddled heap ungracefully slumped on the dusty hallway floor. The mass of robes, dark, wavy hair, and pale, freckled limbs stirred experimentally. A face suddenly emerged from the jumble, and the bemused features belonging to a female student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry known for her "cool as a cucumber" personality quickly adopted an expression of concern, then horror. A watch was hastily whipped out, and a louder groan sounded, followed by several thumps as the frizzed mess of hair was gently banged against the millennia aged wall. 

A teenaged girl's figure soon materialized in place of the lump, and newly wrinkled and dirty robes were ineffectually straightened and cleaned off. Brede sighed, and coming to terms with the fact that she would return to the Griffindor common room looking like a tornado victim, she slowly sauntered off to face the inevitable questions and snickers. 

As she put one foot before the other, she considered the events of the day. Her panic attack, Remus's concern and discovery of her hiding place... _What must he think of me now?_ was a primary question haunting her mind. Another pressing matter was the explanation she would be forced to give to the rest of her housemates. She had missed dinner, and no one had seen her, excluding Remus's five minute attempt to rescue a damsel in distress, since early afternoon. She was known for random disappearances, but as her empty stomach was now reminding her, she **never** missed meals. 

As the odds that a flippant and ad-lib explanation would be taken at face value sunk in, Brede's steps slowed to a stop and she felt about ready to cry again. She forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly and desperately attempted to coagulate a reasoning that included Remus's unintentional interloping and a missed dinner. "I was snogging with Snape" just didn't cut it, and her little tendency to fall off the edge several hundred feet into a ravine at a moment's notice was also an unacceptable inclusion. 

She sighed, and decided to allow her renowned acting skills to explain for her. Picking her reluctant feet up once more, Brede imagined she was back in muggle school in the US, lacking a care in the world other than that night's homework, or whether to be the mother or the daughter in a game of house, or even how many tanks to launch against her brother's opposing army. 

That thought was quickly quenched, and Brede vowed, for the thousandth time, to never recall a fond family memory again. She fervently beseeched her patron saint, Bridget, for support and inspiration in her present state of confusion and traumatized nerves. The urge to simply crawl into a hole and die was virtually overwhelming, but Brede, a procrastinator of the worst kind, forced the powerful inkling to a deep, dark corner of her brain, to be carried out at a later date. 

With a start, she realized she was approaching the portrait of the fat lady. Taking several deep breaths and focusing on Potions and the library, Brede greeted the fat lady in a voice that betrayed nothing even nearing her true feelings. After pronouncing the password past an increasingly clumsy tongue, she hoisted herself into the...empty common room? 

In the center of the large chamber, a terribly confounded Brede slowly rotated in place. Suddenly, the fifth year students burst from their respective dormitories. An earth-shaking roar of "Surprise!" reached her ears, and the last thing she saw before consciousness fled was a cake sporting the words "Happy Birthday!" in a violently cheerful shade of pink. 

  
  
"It's been so long...D'you think the yelling was too much?" 

"She's been looking even paler than usual recently, she matches the sheets a little too well." 

"I didn't think a non-albino could be any lighter than she already was." 

Brede's eyes suddenly snapped open, and as she raised a shaky hand to rub her throbbing forehead, she muttered, "Alright, alright, no more comments from the peanut gallery regarding my skin tone..." The pair of faces hovering next to her bed chuckled quietly at her dry comment, but both bore tinges of concern. "Don't look so worried, m'dears. I'm sure it was just low blood sugar. Seeing that mountain of sugary fatness probably shocked my system...who selected that beautiful shade of Barbie pink, by the way?" 

Lily Evans and Rosemary Coffey laughed once more and shook their heads in tandem. Just then, Madam Pomfrey bustled in, expressing quite passionately, her opinion on visiting those in a "delicate" condition. Brede, equally vehement, argued on her dorm mates' behalf, and earned a five-minute reprieve and a stern look. 

Lily and Rosemary's expressions turned serious once more after the nurse's departure, and both eyed her penetratively. Lily spoke first, "I don't buy it, Miss Kearney." Her no nonsense tone made Brede flinch inwardly. Had she been that obvious recently? Rosemary's inquiry was no less suspicious. 

"What has been going on with you lately. I mean, you've been sleeping erratically, you've been a million miles away during classes, you haven't been eating, and frankly, we're all very worried about you." 

_Here it comes..._ thought Brede. _I'm sure Remus immediately ran to everyone, only out of innocent worry, of course, and related the tale of their strange encounter that afternoon. Speaking of which_, she wondered, _What time is it?_ She echoed this question out loud, causing the pair before her to flinch slightly. 

"Well, that's just it, really. You see, I mean to say, it's, well, it's..." Lily stuttered, choking on her own words. 

Rosemary elbowed the currently incapable speaker, and said "I'm sorry, dear, but you were out for, well...it's Tuesday." 

Brede lay there, stunned. "You mean to tell me, I mean...well, my God, what happened...I've been out two days?" She seemed to have acquired a similar condition to Lily's, but the two girls didn't notice. 

That's why we've been so worried, you know," said a partially recovered Lily. "You were out so long, and you've been so out of it recently..." Brede noticed, however, there'd been no mention of any unusual conversations with certain male members of their class, and she thanked Remus mentally many, many times. 

"I've just been really stressed recently, you know that. With the OWLS and all." As she crossed her mind's imaginary fingers, Brede knew this sounded lame, even to her own ears, because she was Brede Kearney, famed slacker and non-stressor. She took one of the most relaxed attitudes towards school possible, and still managed to earn good grades. Hopefully, however, they'd buy her explanation, and then she could just resume her typical behavior and pretend nothing strange ever happened. Except that encounter with Remus...she groaned internally. How could that be explained away? Although he hadn't told the girls, he could have shared the experience with the boys, and even if he kept it completely to himself, he was still probably very suspicious. There were simply too many unknowns. She'd have to do a bit of detective work when she was released from the land of white sheets and Madam Pomfrey's mysterious potions. 

This point was moot at the moment, however, as the people she had spent the majority of the last four and change years with stared her down. They did not look convinced. Rosemary raised a single eyebrow, and echoed Brede's own thoughts of only a moment before. "The famed slacker worried about school work? Since when? Not that we would discourage such thoughts in that mysterious mind of yours, but come on!" 

Lily's expression was slightly more forgiving, but only just. "We'll buy it for now, Kearney, but if you want to talk, we're always here." Brede again felt an almost irresistible urge to simply give in, reveal all, get the crushing burden off her chest, but then she recalled what the probable result would be, and she quickly squelched the thought. 

"I'm really and truly fine, I promise." Lying got easier and easier, she found. 

"If you're sure..." Rosemary didn't seem wholly convinced, but she also seemed ready to let it slide. Temporarily, anyway. 

"We should get back. It's almost nine o'clock...Unless you'd like us to stay, we could probably wheedle some more time out of Madam Pomfrey." Lily didn't seem terribly enthused to leave Brede alone. 

"Really, you two. I'll be absolutely wonderful tomorrow. Right as rain, and all that. Sleep well, and I'll be as chipper as ever for double Potions, first thing." Brede pasted a incredibly large and immensely false smirk upon her face as they both cringed and said, "Now scoot." 

"If you're sure..." 

"I am" she promptly inserted. 

"We'll see you tomorrow then. Get rested up for classes." 

"G'night. Don't let those bed bugs bite!" The pair chuckled once more, and departed. 

  
  
Was it beneath your notice? Was it deserving of massive amounts of praise? Tell me what you thought! I am desperate! 


	4. If These Walls Could Talk

Two chapters in one day! (Albeit this is really short…) Will wonders never cease? 

I do not pretend to own anything other than Brede and Rosemary. All hail Queen Rowling. 

  


_If These Walls Could Talk_

  
As two girls exited the Hogwarts hospital wing, both were sure they almost heard a sigh of relief emerge from the only patient within. They both released sighs of frustration, and made their way to the Griffindor common room. Neither noticed the tall, black haired witch slip into the ward after them. 

As they heaved themselves past the immense silk-clad guard, they were met by several worried faces. They shushed the inquiries and informed all that the lone occupant of the infirmary had finally regained consciousness. The guilt-ridden fifth years seemed especially relieved, as were many of the first years, who had sorely missed their protector from a few of the less savory characters in Sytherin House. Her well-known sarcasm and wit, in addition to her four years of magical experience, had often kept those who would prey on unsuspecting "firsties" in check, but the rate of curses and insults flung at the newbies had dramatically shot up in her absence. 

The first group gathered around the duo after the rest had returned to their previous undertakings. The four boys and two girls pressed them for further details. They commenced in expressing their deep concern after Brede's long-term welfare, and Remus nearly blurted out his heightened worry, based on the racket she had been making that Sunday, but he held himself in check. He did, however, express his guilt at suggesting the party for the millionth time, as he hadn't expected her to react so violently at all. He hadn't, either. He had hoped the show of friendship would cheer her up, not knock her out. 

He had come to the rueful conclusion that group intervention, as most of the students around him were suggesting, would not help the situation. Something would have to be done, however. Obviously, something was severely troubling to Brede, and the Girl Who Didn't Cry was determined to remain her stubbornly flippant self. She had spent the past four years not getting particularly close to anyone, and he had decided one person would have to worm their way into her trust to cause her concession. 

As the fifteen-year-old witches and wizards came to the conclusion that a meeting would be held in an hour's time to design a plan of action, Remus came to the conclusion he would have to earn her trust. No one else understood the coolness, the barriers produced to keep others out, the deflection of warmth and love to protect one's secrets the way he did. He would gain her confidence. He would wait. 

  
Quite short, but what did you think? Is this even approaching an entertaining plot? Am I conveying the information in a comprehendible manner? Where would you like to see this go? I plead, I beg, REVIEW! 


	5. Interview With a Wizard

Where is everybody? My previous ego boost has been deflated. No matter, I shall plow on for at least one more chapter. However, m'dears, if NO ONE reviews this...this...whatever it is, I think I shall refrain from posting anymore. I lap up any suggestions or comments, good OR bad. If anyone is actually reading this, and said person really doesn't like this, but to spare me the mortification or to save him or herself the time doesn't tell me, I would implore he or she to take the minute or two necessary to share their impressions. And hey, if you thought it was dandy, then by all means, don't allow me to stop you from singing this story's praises. If the silence continues, I'm going to assume no one is reading this, and I'll move on to other writing projects. A single word is all I ask for, more is lovely. 

I've disclaimed ownership in every other chapter, I shan't do it again. 

  


_Interview With a Wizard_

  
Unable to restrain herself, Brede swiped her brow and released a gust of breath that summarized her relief after surviving the classic third degree just administered to her by her closest friends. This does not indicate that she and her two classmates were terribly close, but they were her most accurate imitation. Her reverie was immediately interrupted by the arrival of another pair of females she'd have rather avoided at the moment. The school nurse and Brede's Head of House simultaneously fixed her with suspicious and probing gazes remarkably similar to those given her only minutes before. Pomfrey spoke first. 

"I informed Professor McGonagall here of your altered state of consciousness immediately. We've all been very concerned, dear." 

Brede had to stifle a giggle at her description of her awakening. Her composure was very necessary throughout this interview. She made it sound as though she were using some illegal substance. Although, perhaps the staff had concluded that this option was a possible explanation. She was considered a bit of a hippie... 

McGonnagall's commanding tone broke through her wandering thoughts. "Now, we understand some of your...difficulties. However, I personally feel something else entirely is going on. Is there anything you would like to share with us, Miss Kearney?" 

Mentally cursing her lack of discretion recently, Brede related her less than believable tale anew. "Well, Professor, you do realize the OWLS are quickly approaching. I've got to do well if I hope to succeed later in life, you know you're always telling us that, and I've been really worried about them. I mean, my attitude on school work's been all wrong, and I just hope my work habits will be improved enough before I go out into the world." 

Brede concluded her dissertation on "Examples in lame excuses" with a timid smile. Her inquisitionists bought it hook, line, and sinker. Better than she could have hoped, actually. 

"Oh, my dear, I never knew you felt that way! I shouldn't have pushed you so hard, I never meant for it to go this far! I'm so sorry!" McGonagall looked to be approaching a nervous breakdown. She was simply beside herself. Madam Pomfrey just seemed very sympathetic. A bit of guilt crept its way into the pit of Brede's stomach at the sight of such a receptive audience. 

She pushed away the undesirable and weak emotion, and attempted to comfort her distressed teacher. "It's all right, Professor." She could barely stifle the urge to wrap her arms around the regretful educator. For all her attempts to shut others out, empathy still managed to wriggle its way out of her on occasion. "You were only doing it for my own good, I've been irresponsible, how were you to know?" 

A still shaken, but slightly recovered McGonagall responded, "It's my job to see you all safe and cared for. I should have responded to the warning signs you've been blaring at the world for the last few weeks." 

Brede again sought the council of her patron. She had **never** gotten this worked up, this emotional, for years and years. Although a breakdown now and then was understandable for the average bear, (or witch), her acting skills and ability to conceal her inner turmoil were both quite well famed. She had inexplicably dropped the ball recently. As she repeatedly pondered any possible sources of her sudden onslaught of sob-fests, McGonagall found her calm and drew in a large gulp of air as though she were about to speak. However, her musings were left unrevealed, as the Hospital Wing door opened to reveal the slightly pensive features of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. 

The moment Brede saw him, a sickening lurch in the region of her stomach informed her that he had learned that which she had sought to conceal. She needed no pity, she needed no taunting. That point was pointless now, however, as he would, in all likelihood, share this information with the entire school. The thought increased the roiling sensation in her abdomen a hundredfold, and she realized she would soon lose any sustenance found in her stomach. Leaping from the bed, Brede dashed to a waste bin in the corner and proceeded to be ill. 

As she rotated in place to lean against the wall and wipe the sheen of sweat that had formed on her brow, Brede regarded the other occupants of the room, she noted with detached matter of factness that they were quite shocked and disturbed. Two were, anyway. Dumbledore just seemed to noiselessly sort the fact away into the endless filing cabinet that served as his memory. Having not eaten for two days, then expelling the first nutrition ingested almost immediately is just not the most enjoyable way to go. As her vision was slowly overrun by small black dots, she slid to the floor. 

  
  
Passing out is not a pleasant process. Brede noted with a pained and frustrated groan that she had gone through it all too often recently and should attempt to avoid at all costs in the future. As she forced her protesting limbs into movement, she took stock of her surroundings. Once again sprawled across the white-sheeted feather mattress, she turned her head slightly and gave a slight jump when she realized she was not alone. Neither was her companion the school nurse. 

"Well, Professor," she forced out. "If you tell me it's Thursday, I think I'll scream." 

The venerable wizard chuckled quietly. "No, no my dear. I can assure you with all possible certainty it remains Tuesday evening." 

Brede was quite happier and grew more assured after this news, but then a thought occurred to her. Not only was she alone with Albus Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful wizard in the world, who she swore could read minds, but he had apparently taken a sizable bit of time out of his immeasurably busy schedule to await her awakening, as the other previous occupants were nowhere to be seen. Her suspicion increased upon seeing the penetrating stare he fixed upon her. 

"Now, Miss Kearney, I have a few events I would like to discuss with you. Feel free to confirm or deny some information I have recently come across." Here he paused, as if waiting for her to interject a comment or pass out again. Feeling the need to fulfill his prediction and having no urge to lose her rare amount of consciousness, Brede swallowed the ever-enlargening lump in her throat and spoke. 

"Well, sir, I can't see what any strange occurrences would have to do with me. I mean, other than passing out at a moment's notice." Any hope she may have held that he hadn't learned the truth slipped away with the stoicism he maintained. The ever-present twinkle in his eye seemed to have dimmed, and his mouth didn't even twitch. 

"Before I begin, I would only like to say that I wish you had told someone. Your teachers are only here to help. There is no giant conspiracy against you here." Brede almost snorted, but managed to stop herself in time. Although the events preceding this little chat were tragic and horrendous, and the condolences he gave she knew to be sincere, his assertion of her safety was quite untrue. For all he knew, the faculty was made entirely of Death Eaters on Polyjuice Potion. However, the trusting and understanding headmaster would never see this possibility. He knew only the light, which was all well and good, but not within her comprehension. 

Dumbledore's lined face, if anything, grew more observant. He seemed to be attempting to divinate her every thought from the slightest twinge of a muscle, the most minute flicker of an eyelash. This scrutiny was terribly unnerving to Brede, and she considered performing a tap dance to let off steam. Deciding against this course of action, as she had no desire to become a mental patient at St. Mungo's, she instead attempted to match his inscrutability exactly. She won their staring contest, as he shortly looked away with a sigh. He seemed a bit disappointed, and she came to the conclusion that denying all previous knowledge might be the most logical procedure. She immediately realized the lack of logic this plan possessed, however, and decided it would only dig her hole to China that much deeper. A testing of the waters was in order. 

"Sir? What exactly did you want to discuss? What's so imperative and somber?" 

He only blinked in response, and Brede thought she could detect a bit of shock at her bluntness. Beating around the proverbial bush was her forte. He recovered admirably, however, and spoke. "I believe you know precisely why I am here; I will humor you in the interest of time, however." 

And so began the slow unraveling of Brede's immense and imaginary invisibility cloak, whose task it was to conceal her past, present, and future. Even she would never have predicted the pain the process would produce. 

  
  
Hellooooooooo? Is anyone still trudging through? A significant portion of Brede's secrets will be aired out in the next chapter. If you would like to them to be revealed, REVIEW! Otherwise, they will remain imprisoned within my brain and my laptop. I love you all dearly, but I'm feeling terribly lonely. If you're reading this, tell me! PLEASE! 


	6. The Percussion Solo

I must begin by heartily thanking **Magic Gerbil** and **The Cynic** for their lovely reviews. You have made this a much more enjoyable experience and given me a major confidence boost. If you'd like to join these wonderful writers on my favorite people list, all you have to do is review. 

I also have to sincerely apologize for just how long this chapter took to write. I blame a nasty combination of lack of time and stifling writer's block. Another break like that shall hopefully never again occur. The next chapter should be up within half a week, perhaps less. 

If you've not passed out yet, hold on for a bumpy ride. Agnst and insanity run rampant. And everyone remember, I'm playing with other people's (otherwise known as Rowling and Warner Bros.) toys. Even Brede no longer acknowledges me. 

  
  


_The Percussion Solo_

  
  
A nervous mix of skimming, tapping and pounding was the current center of the universe. All that mattered was that the elusive, imaginary rhythm continued ceaselessly. One tiny break, one false move, and the beat was lost, and another was forced to tamp down its stage fright and emerge to replace it. Occasionally, what could have been construed as a fatal blunder actually enhanced the original tune and advanced its maturity, but this was a rarity. 

Two large spheres, blue and gold on white, remained fixedly focused on the ever-altering patterns drummed out by a long-fingered appendage attached indirectly to them. As vigilant was their gaze, the orbs followed the dance with a ravenous hunger, expressing their owner's urge to vault from her position on the mattress, which had somehow seemed to exchange the usual down for viscous, unrelenting, craggy stone. 

A track of moisture, a product of her quickly dampening brow, slid gracefully past a forest of speckled melanin, eerily mimicking the behavior of the product of tears ducts. 

The master of all these differing parts was sluggishly growing aware of just how impossible the irrepressible world is to ignore. Her fervently chanted mantras no longer seemed possessed of any meaning. 

Like an infant, she suddenly grew aware of the somber colors of all around her. The faint essense of incense and heavy perfume pervaded her consciousness. As though not entirely of her own volition, those formerly immovable eyes haltingly lifted to absorb the wooden box and altar before her. 

A lightening bolt-like thought struck her. _The box isn't there. I'm not absorbed by stoicism, plastering layers of false acceptance over the tiny concentrated black hole of hurt and longing and PAIN. Blandness is no longer my shroud. The glances laden with pity aren't truly bestowed upon me once more._ He's _reopened the wound, awoken the sleeping, desecrated the dead. I've had enough. No more!_

With that final thought echoing through her mind, in addition to several less appropriate choice phrases uttered by her subconscious, mostly related to the parentage, bathing habits, and intelligence of the other occupant of the hospital wing, Brede threw covers off as a straight jacket. She gave Dumbledore one hate-filled glance fueled by years of repressed aggression, leapt off the pallet and tore out the door. 

After a remarkably hasty recovery, Dumbledore removed his spectacles and cleaned them. He replaced the crescents and seemed to deflate a bit as he slumped in his chair. The expression of defeat continued for a span of approximately ten to twelve seconds, ending with his resuming of good posture and swift exit from the room in a much less dramatic fashion. 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________ 

After the energy burst provided by the sudden rage, Brede grew aware, quite suddenly, that she was spent. Her legendary will power, the sustenance of her existence and sole reason for her current life span, had finally dried up. Her drained and much abused mind thought only vaguely,_Oh bloody hell, what's the point?_ As miniscule black dots began to dance throughout her field of vision, Brede drew a sharp breath and steeled herself. Apparently, that niggling desire for survival had not been totally eradicated as of yet. And with that ever so slight bit of triumph at maintaining awareness also came another realization: she had just torn through school and still sat in some unnamed hallway in nothing but her pajamas. 

Brede snorted. The snort turned into a chuckle. The chuckle became a solid, hardy laugh. She soon had herself in such hysterics she actually began to cry. Tears coarsed down her faced as the sound of her quite maniacal laughter rang through the anonomous hall. Brede soon realized how much of a loony she would appear to any outsider, and instantaneously came to the conclusion she didn't much care. 

Her personal party did not go unnoticed for long. Of all the people to wander the (then) uncharted chambers of Hogwarts, the individual to stumble upon Brede would have to be the one and only Remus Lupin. The slightly alarming racket she'd been making had drawn him immediately, and as he screeched to a halt several paces from her mirth-crumpled form, he found the only action within his capacity to be the dropping of his jaw. 

As if his confusion and apprehension radiated, Brede percieved an observer, and fearing Dumbledore, began to take deep gulps of oh so refreshing air. She never got past the "Well, Dumbldore," part of her speech, for her own eyes informed her, with what she thought was just a bit of malice, that her plan to inform Dumbledore quite cleanly that she would be running off to live with the faeries would not go over as she'd planned. 

"You, my dear, are certainly not the Headmaster. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to give notice of my instantaneous withdraw from the hallowed halls of academia." Brede found that being slightly unhinged had its benefits. Her tongue produced answers much more quickly. The loss of logic would be a problem, but she'd known many who'd lived quite happily with less than she still possessed. As she moved to pass Remus, she suddenly found him gripping her arm. It was not painful, but certainly firm. 

"What in bloody hell is wrong with you, Brede?" He almost seemed...frustrated? "I would like an explanation of," and with this he made a vague, all-encompassing gesture, "Everything that's been going on recently." The expression of seemingly genuine care almost broke her down, but in her somewhat compromised state of sanity, she had suddenly forgotten exactly _why_ she'd always been so _different_. 

She felt another snort coming on. 

"Give a bloody rest, Lupin." She wrenched her arm from his grasp and backed up a few paces. The hall echoed slightly with the cracking and popping produced by her rotating neck. _She wanted interference from no one, least of all a classmate with a misplaced sense of nobility. That's always been the Griffindor thing, though, hasn't it? Being noble. Being stoic. If you care about others, everything will just be peachy, won't it?_

Brede suddenly became aware if the fact she'd spoken something to that effect aloud. She shrugged her shoulders and turned, determined to find Dumbledore and escape. 

The determination of her classmate had been woefully underestimated by Brede, however. He would not let her off nearly that easily. He had been intrigued and concerned by her recent unease, and the kid gloves with which she'd been handled by the staff only affirmed his perception that all was not right with Brede. "What deep, dark secret makes you so isolated and vulnerable at the same time? What's wrong with you, Brede?" 

As Brede flinched at his frightening accuracy, she noticed with a bit of detachment that the alarm bells that usually chilled her blood and clamped her mouth shut failed to function. Time and stress had finally silenced them. Heaving a great sigh, and figuring that her soon to be former classmate could find no way to inflict more pain on her once he knew of her issues if she was no longer there anyway, she resolved to reveal the tawdry tale. Somewhere deep inside her brain, a bit of logic clamored to be heard above the din of insanity. It squealed at her that Remus wouldn't do something like that. He was a nice boy who cared. The fact that her cold, calculating side was telling her to trust someone disturbed her, but Brede no longer cared about much anymore. She slumped against the ancient wall and beckoned him to join her. The beady stare Remus found fixed upon him was scarily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. 

"I'll be gone in an hour, so what the heck. Fasten you safety belt and secure your belongings. Welcome to my private little hell." 

  
  
Yes, I know, I'm a whack job, and I promised the awful life history of Brede this chapter. It's in the next, I swear! It'll be here in a few days, and then you all can do a dance of joy or be driven to madness by its sheer horrendousness. I devour reviews like chocolate. 


End file.
